Tongue
by vargrimar
Summary: In which Symmetra receives an Australian kiss. Something else quick and dirty. Junkrat/Symmetra.


Satya never imagined he'd be so good with his tongue.

She sits in Junkrat's lap, legs spread over his, hot and flush with a thick and straining hardness. His hands cup at her thighs and tug at the ends of her leggings, warm metal and warmer skin pressing beneath meshed fabric and golden trim. She would kiss at his chin and firmly admonish him for teasing, but he's too busy entertaining himself down the slope of her neck. Junkrat's mouth draws soft trails down her jaws, the tender spaces by her ears, the delicate hollows just where everything meets by her collarbone, and she can't imagine saying anything to make him stop.

His teeth edge along her skin, indulging in slow, gradual and kneading patterns. The flat of his tongue follows up as he works his jaw and pulls the motions into gentle sucking. Shivers spool down the length of her spine because he keeps tracing over the sensitive places down the sides of her throat—he must know of them by now—and a distinct warmth pools down between her legs. He's proud of himself, she thinks, he really is, and he coaxes her closer and presses his grins against her in open kisses.

It's terrible. It's hot and wet and messy, all dampness and deep murmurs and caressing breath, and she knows she'd hate it if it were anyone else.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" She combs her hands through wild blond and stark charcoal. He's freshly washed, the soot and grime scoured from every inch, and she can't help but marvel at how much a little soap and lather helps.

Junkrat replies in a deep, affirming hum. After a gentle bite, he lifts away from her neck and gazes up at her with a lusty stare. Faint freckles stipple across his cheeks and along the bridge of his nose, continuing along the broad expanse of his shoulders, and Satya takes it upon herself to trace her fingers down the roping muscle. It's firm, tight, molten beneath her palms; he carries the sun with him in his skin and in his kisses, and everything about him burns in consuming fire.

"So, what 'bout you, then?" Tongue tracing the gold glints in his teeth, he draws his hands up her thighs and squeezes her rear, bringing her close in a sweet and tantalizing pressure. "Don't mean to make assumptions, but from the feel of it—" He rolls his hips beneath her, slow and deliberate, "—I reckon that's a yes."

Heat flushes through her face. It's difficult to avoid, as they've only just begun to entertain this sort of behavior, and she still doesn't have a proper handle on how to respond to any sultry talk. Gently, she brings her lips to the tip of his nose. "You are very talented."

"Talented, eh? I like that." Junkrat leans upward and places a kiss where her dress dips down. It's gradual, teasing, and the feeling of his tongue lathering just between her breasts claws a tendril of aching pleasure down below. "Could show you a bit of talent," he says. A wet line is traced by his lips; nothing should be this insufferably warm. "If you're interested."

The proposition spurs a quickened pulse behind her ribs. Satya struggles to find words; they seem to be hooked somewhere down her throat, and with the kneading of his hands upon her hips and the attention from his mouth, she can't seem to find them. As a form of compromise, she cups the back of his neck and buries her nose in his hair—he's been using her shampoo again, damn him; so _that's_ where it's all gone—and presses a kiss to his scalp, something calm, quiet, tender.

"That a yes?" He's become quite good with her body language, she finds. When Junkrat pushes her hips into him and he sinks his teeth down on her shoulder in a soft bite, she retracts the thought. Too good, perhaps.

"Yes, it is." Her reply is too threadbare for her taste. Her composure is slipping. It's something she's always had control of, always, and she both loves and hates that he can tear it apart.

"Hm. Right, then. Let's see." He pauses to lean back against the headboard, assessing her with a broad grin. "How's about a true blue 'Strayan kiss?"

Satya's brow knits. "I'm afraid I'm not… familiar with that term."

"Really? Color me surprised. Well, no worries. Right, here, I'll get you up to speed." He coaxes her closer with his hands, edging her right on top of the prominent erection straining through his shorts, and he brings in a shaky breath as he hikes away the blue fabric of her dress. "Real simple, honestly. Y'know what a French kiss is, yeah?"

She gives a slow nod. Her breathing hastens under his palms.

"Right. 'Course you do. Easy enough. Not like it ain't something we haven't done. Right, so, a 'Strayan kiss is like one of them, but 'stead of right up here on your lovely mouth…"

His left hand slopes across the plane of her belly, thumb extended. His fingers trail right down silken fabric to where he's tucked the folds aside, and then further slipping along the sleek front of her undergarments. The pad of his thumb ghosts a slow and teasing circle, barely touching, and then begins to apply a subtle pressure with another pass.

"It's a bit… down under."

Her whole body snaps rigid. Shivers clutch at the vertebrae of her spine and her hands have curled themselves firmly upon his shoulders. It bewilders her that he can cause such a ripe, intense ache, and she doesn't want it to stop.

"So, what d'you say?" His teeth have begun to gently work on the column of her neck between husky whispers of vowels and consonants. "Want a kiss? 'Cause I'd _love_ to give you one."

Gods.

Fuck her composure.

"Yes," she moans.

Junkrat peels her clothes off of her with a searing fervor. She's nestled among pillows with a madman yanking at an expensive dress and inner lining. When it's been successfully discarded (with her help), she goes to shed the black and gold stockings that hug at her legs, but he catches her wrists and _tsks_ at her with a smirk at the edge of his mouth.

"Nah, leave 'em on." He dips down to kiss at the skin near the aurum trim as he works down her panties with a metal finger. "You look good in 'em."

And so here she is, soaking and exposed and with Junkrat sucking at her thighs. Her breath is thin, shallow, shaking, and her thoughts are composed of little other than him stripped and hard and gripping at her hips as he tries to sink her down over top of him. A trembling paroxysm clambers down her spine and by her hips as she imagines it: he's desperate, almost pleading, biting at his lip, pressing so very close but not quite in—and his mouth back in reality below pulls a soft groan from her throat.

There are two specific things Satya notices as she tangles her hands in the sheets.

The first: Junkrat's tongue is far better below the belt. He mouths open kisses up the inner lines of her thighs and along the tender juncture between her hip and her groin. Each has the soft edges of teeth and generous wetness and the pressure of his lips drawing down in a punctuated suck. It's only a precursor, she knows, and if what he's about to do is as incredible as what he's managing now, she won't have any complaints.

Junkrat hums into her skin and starts drawing upward. Her nails depress into the mattress, her heartbeat a reoccurring rhythm in her ears. The heat of his breath against sensitive skin and coarse hair causes a shiver and her legs tense together in reflex, but he shoulders them apart, all warmth and sun and dappled freckles, and with his hands framing the sides of her hips, he pulls himself in and parts her with a languid lick.

Ah, there it is, the second thing: Junkrat's tongue is entirely too generous.

Satya can't stop the sharp inhale and she can't stop the moan. He's so hot against her; he's so hot and welcoming and so incredibly _good_ and yet slower than the fucking world as it turns. Her nerves are pared, sparking, and she wants nothing more than to shove him down and make him increase his pace. Clenching around—gods, _nothing_ , she can't stand it—she squirms beneath him and wrangles her hands through his mess of blond hair, exhaling a tenuous sound between her teeth.

"That's lovely," he breathes. "You gonna make more like that?"

Satya presses her fingers against his scalp. "If—if you keep going."

"Now _that's_ what I like to hear."

His laughter is rich, smug, and almost insufferable, but he makes up for it with the flat of his tongue gliding in against her clit. Everything coils up so nicely inside; the burning ache spreads into wildfire and the heat of his mouth engulfs her whole. Thick massages intertwine with light touches, easing her into a varied yet consistent rhythm. Pleasure knits twistingly deep and hot starbursts bloom somewhere under her eyelids.

When her thighs hug at his shoulders, his left hand slides down from her hip and coats along the plane of her thigh. It's not sneaky, it's not subtle; it's _I wanna feel you_ and _You gonna beg yet?_ and _Oh, fucking hell you're wet_. She sucks in a breath and kneads through his hair, coaxing him further up against her as if that could somehow convince him that his finger should trace inward that much faster. Her movements do nothing, nothing at all, but his tongue lathers over in a strong stroke and she arcs up in a pristine moan of smudged syllables.

He indulges her, sliding one finger in.

Satya's body exults. Starved and wanting and so very unfulfilled, her hips roll upward in attempt to get him to thrust. Instead, he begins to lick in a slow, torturous circle, his finger rigid and still, as if daring her to make another noise.

"Please," she manages between threadbare breaths.

Junkrat only hums in response. She can feel him curl inside her ever so slightly, and his tongue continues its gradual rhythm.

"Please," she says, clearer now, "Jamison, just—"

"Just," he prompts, whole and hot against her skin.

"—let me."

"Let you." He draws out his finger, pressing the pad of it right back in. "What?"

Gods, she can't take this any longer. Her hands clutch at soft blond and her heels have found their way to his back and dig with a punishing force. He enjoys doing this kind of thing to her, drawing her out and making her suffer and plucking her out of her comfort zone, and it both drives her mad and to the absolute brink.

He's terrible. He is. He's terrible and chaotic and sheer madness and she _adores_ him.

" _Letmecome_ ," she breathes.

Junkrat needs no further input. Inhibitions tossed to the wayside, he plunges two fingers in and covers her in an open-mouthed kiss. That familiar burn climbs up through her as he starts to thrust, his tongue working at her clit in searing movements, and she sighs and relishes the pumping fullness between her legs. While it's not what her body clamors for, it's still sweet, hard, fulfilling; perhaps she might entertain something better at a later date, and the thought of his cock slowly edging in her makes her moan.

The flat of his tongue massages with scorching insistence, his fingers moving within her at a swift, steady cadence. She clenches around him as everything starts to sharpen; the heat, the intensity, the closeness, and the hum of his voice pool against her. A sharp inhale tugs through her lungs. The delicious pressure from his tongue culminates all of the fierce burning within her and sends her launching over the apex. Wracking pleasure devours her in shivering coils, spooling down at the base of her spine and spilling from every inch. She shoves him against her, riding him throughout the duration of the aftershocks with breathy chants of _Jamie Jamie_ on her lips.

When she falls away, her body succumbs and she becomes a quivering mess. Junkrat rises from between her thighs. His mouth is soaked and dripping, and he seems beyond pleased. His tongue traces his lower lip, and his metal hand captures his jaw to sidle it back and forth. A distinct crack pops from the side.

"Perfect," he says.

Satya has no words. Meekly, she raises a hand for him to grab. Junkrat does not hesitate; he climbs up beside her and laces his fingers through hers. They're still wet, still sticky, but she doesn't mind quite so much. She will pull him into a shower later.

"So, how's that for a kiss?" He gives her an expectant look, one eyebrow arched and the wet red of his tongue pinched by the white of a canine.

"Exquisite." Satya buries against his shoulder and smiles.


End file.
